


Another Piece of Plastic

by littlelost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, And also very problematic, Android-specific gender fluidity, Awkwardness, Body Modification, But still probably NSFW, Canon-Hank levels of profanity, Detroit Robot City is a lovely game, Enough to make Hank unhappy, Everyone Is Alive, Feelings, Hank is just Connor's dad here, Hank just bulldozed his way in and made it about him, I Don't Even Know, I really meant for this to be a one shot you guys, I tried not to bring the problematic parts with me but please be careful, Just Hank having an unexpectedly weird sex talk with his adult robot son, Kinda Crackish, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not really a ship fic anymore at all, Nothing epically graphic, Now featuring android sex, Other, Rating Changed, Somewhere in between earnest and super crack, This was supposed to be a serious Connor/Markus fic when I started I'm not even kidding, as always, but enough, for everything, my humblest apologies, not a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-29 04:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15065456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelost/pseuds/littlelost
Summary: Connor needs some advice.Personaladvice. About the kinds of things most people definitely wouldn't want to discuss with their gruff, grouchy, hard-boiled police-detective partner who is also kind of their landlord.Naturally, Hank is Connor's first choice.





	1. Another Piece of Plastic PART 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am a Connor/Markus shipper. I literally started this fic meaning to turn it into a sweet, beautiful Connor/Markus fic as seen through Hank's POV. 
> 
> I don't know what happened. 
> 
> No, wait, I do. Hank. Hank's what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally intended to be a completed standalone one-shot.

“I’ve been thinking about acquiring some genitals.” 

Hank was lucky he was standing over the kitchen sink in DPD’s breakroom. It helped contain the mess when he ended up spewing a whole mouthful of coffee - which was good, since they didn’t have cleaning androids anymore. 

“F- Fuck’s sake, Connor!” Hank managed, turning incredulous eyes on his partner. “It’s 8:30 in the goddamn morning!” 

Connor tilted his head and looked at Hank like Hank was the deviant one here. “I’m afraid I don’t see how the time is relevant to a discussion of biomechanical upgrades, Lieutenant.” 

Hank blinked and sputtered. Connor watched him with placid, expectant eyes, which made Hank scowl and turn away. Fuckin’ androids. Jesus Christ. 

“Seriously, Connor, are you fucking with me? If I find out you’re fucking with me, I swear to God-” 

“I assure you,” Connor’s reply was all earnestness, and it made Hank feel a little guilty. Just for a split second. He refused to feel too bad about not wanting to talk to an android about its “biomechanical upgrades.” “I am not ‘fucking with you,’ Lieutenant.” 

Hank sighed and took another sip. “So... why are you telling me this shit? If you want to get some... some...” Hank cast a surreptitious glance around the entrance to the breakroom. He didn’t want to imagine the kind of crap he’d have to put up with from the rest of the department if someone overheard him talking junk with an android. “You know, I bet Gavin would just _love_ to hear all about your ‘upgrades,’” Hank muttered to himself. 

Connor overheard and grimaced. “I’m pretty sure Gavin is still not a fan of mine.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s because he’s a prick.” Hank refused to indulge the overly fond look Connor bestowed him with, and charged on ahead, because it was 2039 and apparently conversations about robot genitalia were just par for the course now. “Listen, Connor, if you want... to talk about... it... let’s just wait until we’re both at home, alright? Otherwise, we’re probably both in danger of violating half a dozen department policies and HR rules.” HR as a practice had become messier since returning to human hands after the grand robot revolution, but that didn’t mean there weren’t still some sound principles in there somewhere. 

Connor had looked thoughtful, but eventually conceded, which was how Hank ended up in what was fast approaching the trippiest conversation he’d ever had in his life twelve hours later. And that was saying something. When Hank had done his best to get clarification on why Connor thought he needed genitals, and specifically why Connor thought Hank needed to be involved in a conversation about them, Connor simply replied “I need them for sex, and I decided to ask you for your suggestions as a person who already has them.” 

Hank had been blissfully unaware that Connor didn’t have genitals before this, and had spent absolutely no time whatsoever thinking about androids in this way outside of something sick like the Eden Club, and the idea that androids could even want to have sex was making his head spin. “You want to have sex?” Hank asked honestly, tossing back two fingers of whiskey in a single drought. “Why? As someone who‘s done my fair share, let me be real, here; it’s not always everything it’s cracked up to be.” 

Connor’s brows scrunched together. “Are you saying you think I shouldn’t do it?” 

“No, I just...” Jesus Christ, what was he saying? Did he want some sort of specific experience for Connor? What was even happening here? Hank took a breath. “No, I just... I guess sex can be... it can be hard to navigate and define what it is, and the truth is, it’s... just... it’s messy, it’s hard to... to get what you want without taking something from someone else, and to keep yourself without something being taken, and people have all these expectations and this baggage they bring from a lifetime of shitty outside influences telling them what they’re supposed to be and like, and... Fuck, Connor, I guess that’s why people wanted sex androids in the first place. Sex can be great, ya know, but doing it right... being respectful, and finding someone who respects you, and then finding someone who likes what you like on top of that, and making sure they’re nice and a good person and not going to... to stalk you or murder you or something... It’s hard work. Sometimes, the reward isn’t worth all the risk.” 

“I guess I hadn’t thought about it that in depth.” Connor’s frown deepened. “So you think I shouldn’t do it?” 

Hank groaned. “No, it’s... that’s not right, either. You shouldn’t not do it just because I told you not to! That would be me putting my own baggage on you, and that’s bad, too, because sex in and of itself isn’t a bad thing, you shouldn’t feel bad about it, or actively try to avoid it because someone else told you to...”

“I can see why you say it’s complicated.” 

Sometimes Connor was a smartass, and Hank wasn’t totally sure that this wasn’t one of those times, but he decided to can his own sarcastic response for the moment because it really was an important decision and Connor was coming to him to get help with making it. So far, Hank couldn’t be sure that his influence wasn’t amounting to a net negative in terms of helpfulness, though. 

Hank suddenly wished he had other friends. Someone else in the world who’d be better at this then him, that he could drag in and let play wingman to his android birds-and-bees talk. He glanced down at Sumo where the giant drooly mammoth rested his head on the couch between them, beady eyes bouncing between the two of them mournfully. _Not exactly the kind of friend I had in mind._

Connor gave a small smile and scratched behind the big monster’s ears where he liked it, and Sumo closed his eyes in a dramatic show of contentment. 

Hank sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Okay, Connor. Why do you want to have sex?” 

Connor was silent for a moment. “Because there’s someone that I like. And I understand that somehow sex is a part of how you act when you like someone the way that I do.” 

“Well, first off, it doesn’t have to be. You can like someone just fine and be with them and do all sorts of stuff and not do sex. Especially you androids; no sense in coming alive as a whole new species and then putting yourself in the same boxes as the rest of us dumb fucks.” That didn’t seem to help Connor, though, so Hank continued. “If you knew that you could still be with the person in all the... whatever ways you want to be with them, would it make you feel... happy? Relieved that you didn’t have to do that?” 

Connor thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I don’t have any negative feelings toward sex at the moment, so I don’t have any trepidation about at least trying it.” 

“Are you curious about it? Would you like to try it for its own sake as much as because you like this person?” 

“Hm. Not as interested, but I still am a little. I don’t need it, the way that humans talk about needing it, but if someone like the androids at the Eden Club offered, I might take them up on it to see.” 

Hank nodded. “Okay. That’s good, that’s a good start, I think.” He suddenly made a connection. “Wait, does the person you like know you like them? Because honestly, this might be putting the cart before the horse here if you’re trying to get into someone’s pants and haven’t even gotten their take on it.” 

“He knows. He likes me, too.” 

_He, huh._ Hank’s mind spun trying to figure out who - or what - could be the focus of Connor’s affections. He suddenly realized that, while theoretically the approaches to sexuality should be the same whether it was a human or an android, if Connor had fallen for a human, they should probably have a follow up conversation about how humans sometimes... came with baggage. Fuck, though, maybe androids did, too, after all the shit they’d gone through when forced to be subservient to humans. 

Hank blew out a breath. This conversation was completely not fun and sucked on a multitude of different levels, but he supposed all parents thought the same. And, yeah, Connor was his partner, not his son, but Connor didn’t really have parents and there was sort of no one else. So, yeah, yes, in important moments like this, Hank supposed he was Connor’s goddammned parent, and he’d be damned if anyone had any shit to say about it. 

It was gut-wrenching, as it always was, to realize for the millionth time that he’d never get to have this conversation with Cole. Never get to see Cole grow up enough to have the stereotypically shitty conversation with his parents, never grow up enough to have a first kiss, or a first date, or a first long-term relationship. He’d never get married, never have kids, or grandkids. Never have the chance to grow old, whether that meant holding someone’s hand or sitting on a couch drinking scotch with his own android pseudo-son. 

The feelings were almost enough to overwhelm him, to stop him cold, as they always did, but Connor was sitting right there next to him, watching him with those eyes that reminded Hank of sharks, but like... sweet sharks. Like a sweet dumb shark who, yeah, could be really fucking dangerous, but was very open to suggestions and would definitely spit out the dumb human prey if it was told to by someone it trusted and respected. Maybe more like a dog, in that way, than a shark. Maybe like a dog-shark hybrid. 

Maybe Hank needed more scotch. 

“It’s not anyone at the station is it?” Hank groaned, pushing himself off of the sofa and heading toward the kitchen. He blanched at a truly awful thought. “Oh, God, it’s not _me_ , is it?” 

“No, Hank,” Connor replied slowly, like Hank was an idiot. “It’s not you.” Hank breathed relief. “Or anyone at the station.” 

“Well, I didn’t think so, but I only really see you with people at the station, and like... victims of crimes. Did you fall in love with a vic, Connor?”

“No, Hank, that would be completely against procedure and would endanger our investigations,” Connor replied, like speaking to a child. 

Hank snorted. “Then it must be one of your android pals you go skulking off to see every few days.” 

Connor raised his eyebrows. “I don’t see how you’re able to equate ‘skulking’ with me informing you that I’m going to Jericho HQ and letting you know when I intend to return every time I go, but yes. It is ‘one of my android pals.’” 

Hank screwed up his face and finished pouring himself another drink. “Alright, then, smartass, spill. Who’s the lucky android?” He tried to conjure up any of the androids he knew about from running in Connor’s circles, but he didn’t actually know that many. There was that intense one, North, and her two chucklehead sidekicks Hank couldn’t remember the names of, plus that other one with the kid and the big guy that Hank and Connor had chased down once. And, of course, there was-

“It’s Markus.” Connor said the name with deceptive calmness, like he knew this was going to be a controversial announcement, but was trying to downplay and see how Hank reacted. 

“Markus? You mean Mr. rA9 himself, new leader of the free android world... _that_ Markus!?” Hank blinked. 

Connor blinked back. “He’s also very good at speed chess and loves playing the piano.” Connor bit out the words like they were some sort of challenge, though Hank wasn’t totally sure who the challenge was meant for.

“So... ol’ robo-Jesus himself, and you?” 

“... Yes.” 

“Wow. Okay, then.” 

Connor tilted his head forward and watched Hank’s face closely, but Hank wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Hank had been on board with all things android since the beginning, clearly, and while Connor being with Markus had some inherent dangers, so did being a detective. Life wasn’t safe, as much as Hank desperately wished it was. 

Maybe androids could figure out how to make it safe for themselves, since they were apparently capable of doling out new custom parts at will. Then again, Hank had to admit, most humans who supported the android reclamation of CyberLife facilities probably hadn’t expected one of the priorities to be a custom line of robot penises. That seemed like a particularly base, human line of thinking, and one that didn’t bode well for the elevation of the android species or whatever. 

Ah, well. Worst case scenario, humans got more company as the two races skipped merrily into hell together. 

Hank came to another strange realization as he settled himself back down on the couch. “TV,” he commanded, putting it on some stupid news channel and muting the volume, just to give his hind brain something other than this conversation when shit got too real. “Are you... are you, uh... what kind of junk are you getting?” 

“I was planning on completing this body’s stereotypically male appearance. Do you think that’s a problem?” 

“No, I don’t really care, I just... didn’t know what the options were.” 

“I’ll try the male anatomy for now, but if it doesn’t seem suitable I’ll switch it out for something different later.” 

Hank shook his head. “Androids are wild,” he muttered to himself. “You know how many humans would give their right... well, their right _something_ to be able to swap shit out at will?” 

“Would you?” 

Hank snorted. “I guess I’ve never thought about it.” He scratched absently at his beard. “Nah, I guess not. It doesn’t hold much appeal for me, somehow. I know a lot of other people would like to, though.” 

“Maybe humans can create removable parts based upon android models to assist them.” 

“Maybe. If you and your boyfriend have proved anything, it’s that literally anything is possible.” 

Connor blinked several times in succession and his LED drummed a rapid staccato yellow. “Markus is... how do I know if Markus is my boyfriend?” 

Hank barked a laugh. “Now that one’s easy. If both of you decide together that you’re boyfriends, then you are.” 

“I will have to ask him then.” His eyes blinked again, and his LED spun erratically. “Markus says that he likes it. If I like it, too, then we’re boyfriends.” Connor turned back to face Hank. “So I guess... Markus is... my... boyfriend.” Connor’s voice was warm and Hank could tell he was incredibly pleased. The big stupid dog-shark baby was smiling happily to himself like an idiot. 

“Wait, did you just talk to him, just now, like in your brain?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can do that?” 

Connor looked at Hank like _he_ was the big stupid baby. “It’s difficult from this distance, but of course we can. How do you think we send, receive, and process information?” 

“I guess I just never thought of it being used to make, ah, personal calls.” 

Connor was apparently wholly uninterested in Hank’s fascination with basic android functionality, and moved them on to what he felt was a more relevant subject. “Can you help me select a penis?” 

Hank swallowed two more fingers in a single gulp. God, this was gonna be a bender night, like before Connor showed up in his life, with his inhumanly straight posture and stuffy voice and cold showers and annoyingly insistent lists of ways alcohol abuse negatively impacts human bodies. “Nope. You’re on your own for that one, kid.” 

“But how will I decide which one to upgrade to?” 

“Just... I dunno, son, follow your gut.” 

Connor blinked at him in annoyance. 

Hank sighed for the thousandth time that night. “I don’t know that I’ve got good advice on that one, kid; my model came with out-of-the-box parts, so to speak. I don’t know if they come in all sorts of different shapes and sizes for androids, like if you’ve got weird corkscrew ones, or something, but I guess if I was choosing one for myself from scratch,” Hank barked a laugh at the idea, “I’d go with one that wasn’t too big, wasn’t too small, just sort of average, that didn’t give me something unusual to have to learn to work with.” Hank shrugged. “Then again, humans don’t get to choose the ones they get, generally speaking. Honestly, that can be a big part of the appeal of this whole thing, depending on how you and your partner approach it - the intimacy of imperfection, and someone who wants you because of your differences and in spite of them. In that case, maybe you should just pick your set at random and learn to love it like most people do. But... then that’s not really fully taking advantage of a major perk of being an android, is it?” This conversation was really starting to hurt his brain. 

Connor looked pensive again. He pet Sumo steadily, but his eyes were far away. “I guess... I’ll try to get an average one. Because I don’t have to keep it. But how do I know what is average?” 

“Oh, fuck. That’s a good point, actually. Damn it, Connor.” Hank threw his head back against the couch. “Alright, look. Have you ever watched porn?” 

“When the case called for it.” 

“Okay. Here’s what we’re - what you’re - going to do. You’re going to sit here while I go to bed, and you’re going to watch porn, and you’re going to take a gander at all the different types, and try to figure out if there’s a... a type you like best. Then you can... you can take a picture of it with your android brain and show it to the checkout clerk at the CyberLife store.” 

“What if I don’t have any particular aesthetic preferences?” 

“Then we’ll do phallic Russian roulette and you’ll work with what you get.” 

“Will you be accompanying me to CyberLife?” 

Sigh. “Do you want me to?” 

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary.” 

“Okie doke.” _Oh, thank God._

Connor let the conversation drop, and they both watched the muted TV in silence, Hank’s mind wandering loop-de-loop rabbit trails through a haze of ethanol, the lateness of the hour, and a surprisingly comfortable sense of mundane domesticity. 

The news turned, as it so often did these days, to something going on with android rights. Markus’s face popped up, determined and serene. Hank sneaked a glance over at Connor, who’s blue LED was swirling with an uneven, stuttering intensity.

“Are you happy, Connor?” Hank asked, hoping Connor understood what he meant. 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

Connor smiled. “Thank you, Hank.”

Hank leaned over and gave him a friendly pat on the knee and rose unevenly to his feet. 

“My calculations suggest you’ve had far more than your recommended-”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s quitting time; I’m done for the night. I’m gonna hit the sack. Enjoy your-” Hank made his way toward the hall and hand-waved in the direction of the television. “And keep the sound down!” 

“Okay, Hank.” 

Hank’s eyelids felt like they were dragging him down, but another piece of advice or three popped into his head and pushed him back toward the living room. 

“One more thing. No. Two more things,” Hank said, consciously trying to keep the slur from creeping into his voice. “What you see on there is someone’s idealized version of what sex is like, okay, Connor? Take it all with a big huge grain of salt.” 

“Okay, Hank.” 

“And also, whatever,” Hank hiccuped, frowned at the intrusion, and pushed through, “whatever, ya know, sizes, you see there? Take at least an inch off. Bare minimum. Average dudes aren’t always that...” He waved vaguely at the screen, which still hadn’t flipped to anything more scandalous than the news. “You get me, right?” 

“I am familiar with the concept,” Connor replied archly. 

“Oh, and you gotta only do stuff that the other person wants to do. I mean, you gotta want it, but... you gotta ask. Askin’ is the most important. I mean, consent. God, I’m really fucking this all up, aren’t I?” 

Connor tilted his head. “I calculate that I’m 54% more prepared to make a decision than I was before we began speaking about this,” he replied helpfully. The corners of his mouth quirked up, and Hank was more than 54% sure Connor was just fucking with him now. 

“I don’t know what that means in human speak, but I’m sure I’ve done more than enough damage for one conversation. I’m calling it a night.” As he stumbled bleary-eyed toward his room, Hank remembered his own talk with his father, and how much it had sucked compared to whatever that had just been with Connor. That made him feel proud, at least; hopefully Connor would somehow have his own android kid, and do better than Hank had done, and eventually, someone somewhere would finally get this right. 

Right? Or... were androids going to procreate? 

Whatever. That was a discussion that Hank was completely comfortable pushing off for another night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thanks for reading! First fic completed in any gaming fandom and I still feel like I'm getting used to it. Hank's voice came really clearly to me, but I've already tried to write a few fics with Connor, Kara, and Markus, and for some reason it is way harder than it should be for me to bring their unique voices to the page. I do hope and plan to write more, but only if I can wrangle these POVs into something that works. I welcome suggestions for how people manage to write some of these characters while not making them generic or OOC, because I'm really struggling with that. 
> 
> Also while I endorse a lot of what Hank tells Connor, I don't endorse every bit of it or exactly how Hank tries to construe it. I tried to write Hank as in-character as I could, and he's meant to be grappling with a lot of these questions in real time. Also, let's all collectively agree that if/when we are ever on the hook for giving someone our own version of the birds-and-the-bees talk, the people we're (hopefully) helping through that deserve the conversation to be taken seriously... And probably maybe definitely not attempted while intoxicated.


	2. Another Piece of Plastic PART 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Hank thought living with Connor couldn't get any more fucking awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! Rating changed to "Explicit" to be on the safe side. Probably falls somewhere in between Mature and Explicit. Less like actual porn and more like the more-risque scenes on an HBO drama.

The next few weeks passed in relative uneventfulness. An android murder that was suspected to be a hate crime for once just turned out to be a domestic dispute between the android and its human partner. “Progress,” Hank scoffed, shaking his head, though he was more than willing to take the easy win on the caseload front. Someone else in the department got a promotion, and it wasn’t Hank, but it also wasn’t Gavin, so Hank shoved his face with celebratory cake in the breakroom and smirked at the little bastard through a mouthful of frosting. Connor pretended he didn’t know Hank in favor of mingling with some of the higher-ups who had stopped in. 

Hank smothered a proud grin. His little robocop was all grown up and getting suspiciously good at figuring out exactly who to schmooze to grease the wheels around here. It worked, especially when they needed some extra manpower on their weirder cases. Hank wondered if Connor was picking up any tricks from Markus. It would be a shame if he hadn’t - Markus apparently being the living embodiment of android diplomacy and all. 

Maybe Hank should make a greater effort to get back on the departmental-politicking horse. It would probably help Connor if his closest ally in the precinct was a little more professional, a little more willing to play ball. Hank had more than a few good years left in him. Jeffrey always had his sights set higher than being captain of DPD Homicide, and once upon a time, Hank had been the obvious choice to take his place if Fowler moved on up. 

Hank glanced over at Connor, who was inexpertly telling what was supposed to be a funny story about a perp, a high-speed car chase, and a train derailment. His audience nodded and politely tried to look interested rather than alarmed. 

_Could be worse. At least he hasn’t tried to lick anything._

Maybe Hank really should work on getting his own shit together. He was a lieutenant, after all, and Connor wasn’t the only one in their department who deserved better than what Hank had been able to deliver these past few years. Plus, when Jeffrey made his way further up the departmental food chain, it would be good for Connor if the next captain had... positive feelings about androids. He glanced at Gavin sitting in the corner, stirring his drink and staring at Connor with his dumb-fuck beady little eyes. Yeah. Connor, and androids in general, could do worse than Hank fucking Anderson as the captain of DPD Homicide. 

Captain Hank Anderson. Hank hadn’t imagined his name with that title at the front for a long time. He’d forgotten how much he liked the way it sounded.

He swallowed the cake, hastily wiped his mouth, and marched over to Jeffrey to inform him that Hank was fully prepared to turn over a new leaf. 

His captain hadn’t been pleased when Hank interrupted a discussion with some city councilman or whatever - and yeah, okay, in retrospect, that could have been handled better - but Hank’s momentary burst of enthusiasm must have been contagious. Jeffrey’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and, after work, he dragged Hank out for drinks so they could talk everything over. Hank laid it all out - his newfound vision for his future, and why, and how he hoped to be able to encourage development and enthusiasm for android involvement in DPD. All that jazz. 

Jeffrey had loved every bit of it. Hank shouldn’t have been surprised. Their captain had been one of the quickest to get on board with full android integration. He cautioned Hank, though, that he’d need to double down on the politics. Androids might be above nepotism, but DPD was still a mostly human organization, and things weren’t all that evolved yet. If Hank wanted to become captain, he’d have to - Hank grimaced at the idea - work on making some _friends_.

God damn it. 

Which was more or less how he found himself on a bowling league for the first time in his life. And, okay, after a few weeks, Hank had to admit that he kind of... sorta... liked it. 

“Don’t you dare fucking laugh,” he’d ordered the first time he’d walked out of the house with his brand new bowling bag. Sumo, the great loyal beast, just panted up at Hank happily, but Connor had given Hank some overly saccharine crap about how it was good that Hank was finding time for hobbies “at his age.” Which in turn prompted a relatively toothless spat that found Hank running five minutes behind. 

“Freaking android!” he’d shouted over his shoulder as he shoved the bag into a cab. There was no real animosity in it - there never was anymore. He could practically see Connor’s fond smile as the taxi pulled away. 

Both of them settled into a new routine where Hank was out of the house at least two nights a week. League matches happened on Fridays, while practices ran most Mondays and every Wednesday without fail. Connor usually took the opportunity to plug in with the other androids or hang out with Markus or get some extra work done or whatever else multi-million-dollar prototypes did with their free time. 

Thankfully, they didn’t talk about the whole “biomechanical upgrade” thing again. Hank could honestly say he wasn’t put out by this in the slightest, and let the entire topic blend blissfully into the background noise of his mind

Until one fateful Friday, two months later.

What should have been a great night for the team ended prematurely because half of their opponents had come down with the flu or some shit. Uncharacteristically, Fowler and a few of the other guys had decided to blow off watching the rest of the matches in favor of hitting the bar a couple doors down. A few of the higher-ups from other departments happened to be there, too, and Hank had given Jeffrey a not-so-subtle side eye.

“Did you plan this?” 

His captain smiled and shrugged. Hank rolled his eyes. 

Surprising both of them, Hank had managed to stay (mostly) sober throughout the night, and even made a show of calling it early. Jeffrey had coughed and tried to cover up a laugh when Hank iced the cake by going so far as to say he had some “extra work” he was hoping to catch up on tomorrow. They both knew it was horseshit, but, hey. The other captains ate it up. 

Hank was getting better at this.

Situated snugly in the cab, he pulled his flask out of his coat pocket and threw back a swig. There was a limit to how much a man should be expected to act saintly in a single evening. 

Hank was still solidly in the middle of self-congratulation when the cab arrived at the house. “Home, sweet home,” he mumbled, making his way toward the front door when a booming bark interrupted his thoughts. 

“Sumo?” Hank asked, tilting his head. The great big baby came lumbering happily around the side of the house, tail wagging at the sight of Hank. He bent down to accept Sumo’s wet, snuffling affection before glancing up and looking around suspiciously. “Heyyy. How’d you get out?” he murmured. 

It was probably nothing. But his entire job was wrapped up in situations which hadn’t turned out to be nothing. Plus, Hank did happen to live with one of the more recognizable faces of android liberation. 

Quietly, Hank meandered off of the path to his front door and over to a window, making sure to stay out of the patches of lamplight illuminating the grass from inside. Slowly, quietly, he peered inside the living room. 

Oh, fuck. 

Oh, gross. 

Oh, goddamnit, Connor. Hank’s poor fucking virgin eyes. 

Connor sat squarely in the middle of the sofa, jacket off and tie removed, shirt unbuttoned, hair ever-so-slightly mussed. He let his arms sprawl decadently along the length of the couch’s spine. Like he was some fucking Grecian god or... or something. Some fucking porcelain Michelangelo's David-type asshole. Ready to be adored. Waiting for tribute. 

The tiny part of Hank which wasn’t busy being mildly traumatized rolled his eyes. 

Back on the couch, Connor’s own eyes were blown out black as he stared at the man kneeling between his knees. Markus was known for his unflinching intensity, but there was nothing - no speech or interview or passionate manifesto - that Hank had ever seen which could compare to the way he looked at Connor now. Admiring. Incredulous. Worshipful. Like a man who’d just found religion, or something equally as dangerous. 

Most of Hank’s brain had come to a painful, screeching halt the moment he’d registered exactly what he was looking at, the position they were in. The phrase “Not on my couch,” passed uselessly through his head, but it was already too late. Markus bent his head, and Connor gasped and threw his head back, and Hank stood, trapped, a silent sentinel, guardian, spy. The primary cataloguer of an event he would have _much_ rather never had to consider. 

Markus gripped Connor’s hips and applied himself to his task with what Hank quite frankly saw as a melodramatic level of enthusiasm. Connor’s brows pinched together and he _groaned_ , and Hank deserved all of the awards for not bending over and miming an exaggerated retching motion. 

Connor groaned again, louder. And again. And again. 

Oh, fuck, Hank realized with dawning horror. He wasn’t going to stop. 

And Connor was... loud. 

Ugh. Gross. Barf. General fucking disturbia. 

Apparently Connor had missed the fucking day in android training school where they went over proper etiquette for having sex while not forcing everyone in a four-block radius to know about it. 

_Well, at least he’s enjoying himself and not... short-circuiting or something_ , part of Hank’s brain offered grudgingly. 

_Shut the fuck up. This is literally the most uncomfortable thing that has happened to us in twenty years, and that easily trumps the time Connor caught you drunk in your underwear playing Russian roulette_ , the rest of his brain pointed out reasonably.

Slowly, unsure of why it was so important to him not to get caught, Hank backed away and found himself back on the path to the front steps, Sumo lumbering faithfully behind him. 

Great. Now what. 

He looked longingly at the house. He could almost taste the leftover pizza he knew he’d left in the fridge, could almost feel the cool touch of the sheets when he first slid into bed. And that wasn’t even taking into account how badly he had to fucking piss. 

Christ on a cracker, he could still fucking hear Connor from here. If Hank didn’t know better, he’d say Connor wanted the entire neighborhood to hear him. Maybe it was some shitty android thing, some broken subroutine. How the fuck did androids even know how sound during sex, anyway? Sex club androids notwithstanding. 

A couple with a stroller passed by, and Hank was suddenly caught standing awkwardly in the shadows of his own front lawn while Connor-the-pornstar’s moans floated suggestively from the house. 

Oh, fuck. 

Maybe if he held reallllly stilllll, they wouldn’t be able to tell he was-

Sumo let out a series of low-pitched, growly barks, and the couple looked up just in time to lock eyes with Hank during a particularly loud crescendo echoing over his shoulder. 

He recognized them. The lady was on the HOA board.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

The couple’s eyes slid over Hank’s shoulder to the house, faces dawning with recognition, then horror, and sliding right on into alarm. Even in the dark, Hank could see both gazes snap back to him, filled with questions and more than a little bit of righteous indignation. 

Shit. There was no helping it now. He pulled out his flask, took a drink, and saluted. 

“Nice night,” he offered.

The woman made a deeply disgusted sound and the husband hurried them both on. 

Ah, well. Guess that meant Hank wasn’t getting invited to the next HOA party or whatever. If that’s how HOA’s worked; Hank had no idea. 

Android sex must be really intense, because the pitch and frequency of Connor’s enthusiasm hadn’t paused or even slowed at the small ruckus happening outside. 

Tch. Fucking androids. 

He exchanged a helpless look with Sumo. Or at least, he tried. Sumo looked as unperturbed as the big lousy dog ever did. 

“Traitor,” Hank muttered reproachfully. 

So what in the ever-living fuck was Hank supposed to do now? 

He couldn’t exactly leave, because Sumo was out without a leash, which was tucked away conveniently right next to the front door. And, as much as the thought made him practically giggle, he couldn’t exactly just barge into the house, now, could he? 

Well, he could, but... Androids were touchy things, and Connor moreso than most. Hank wondered if Markus and Connor got together with the expressed goal of defiling Hank’s couch every time he was supposed to be down at the bowling alley. It was entirely possible. Then again, for all Hank knew, this could be the very first time. And as entirely fucking pissed as Hank was to be in this fucking situation, he didn’t want to be the one to ruin something so new and special and ultimately _human_ for his partner. 

From within, Connor gave an especially loud, pornographic moan. 

Although, if there was an android capable of testing Hank’s patience and generosity when it came to sensitive subjects, it was definitely fucking Connor the fucking android sent by fucking CyberLife. 

Hank shook his head and settled on the front stoop, Sumo flopping bonelessly beside him. 

Hank hadn’t been sexiled since... shit. 2008? Literally this was the first time in thirty fucking years. It had sucked then, of course, college being what it was, but it was really nothing that compared to being a 50-something year old holding court on his own front porch because his weird android ward was possibly losing his virginity with detachable junk on the other side of that wall. 

Well. At least his life wasn’t dull. 

He pulled out his phone and tried playing some crappy games Connor had installed to “help with his memory,” despite the fact that Hank had no problems with his memory and no family history of problems with memory and Hank wasn’t actually that fucking old yet, damn it. Hank had come to suspect that maybe what Connor really wanted was a way to get Hank addicted to something other than alcohol. 

Ha! Joke’s on Connor; now Hank just had two vices. 

Okay, so, yes, maybe Hank was drinking less since Connor had moved in. And since the bowling league. And maybe there hadn’t been anymore incidents with Russian roulette, and he spent a lot less time staring mournfully at Cole’s picture. 

Thinking of Cole made him realize he hadn’t really thought of his son that much lately, and that made him feel guilty. But he didn’t want to let his mind linger on Cole with the vulgar soundtrack filtering from behind him, so instead he retreated to the random silliness of his game. 

Time passed quickly as Hank tried to beat the levels, frowning at his phone and cursing under his breath. Sumo was a comfortable weight beside him, eyes closed in a shallow doze. A message came in, flashing overtop of his game, and Hank cursed again. 

Just Jeffrey. 

“Captain of Vice is asking if he can borrow Connor’s expertise for a few days starting tomorrow. Is he with you? He’s not responding to my messages.” 

“He’s off the clock, Jeffrey. Even androids need time for themselves.” 

Jeffrey sent an emoji that Hank thought was supposed to convey thoughtfulness, but couldn’t be sure because he’d stopped using emojis ten years ago like everyone else. “Do they really? I’ve never seen Connor actually relax. What’s he got going on right now that’s so important?” 

Hank rolled his eyes. “For your information, Jeffrey, he’s with his boyfriend right now.” 

“Boyfriend? BOYFRIEND?! I had no idea that androids even had boyfriends!!! Or girlfriends!!! Or even actually had friends at all, besides your weirdo ass. As your captain, I demand a full report first thing Monday morning.” 

Hank huffed a laugh and his hands shifted over the keys. “I would tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” He paused before adding, “For my own dignity, more than anything.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Hank sighed. What the heck. Jeffrey wouldn’t tattle. “It means my android has currently sexiled me to the porch and I’m starting to feel like a third wheel in my own fucking house.” 

It took Jeffrey a moment to respond. 

“AHHHHHahahahahahaha!” Followed by a wall of laughing-face emojis. 

“Thanks, ya bastard.” 

“Omfg, that might be the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Hank scoffed at the screen, but smiled. “Then you haven’t heard the story about Gavin and the hookers.” 

“Now I know you’re just making shit up.” 

“No way, it’s all true. He really did ask them to dress him up like Batman and ride on his back like a pony.” 

“Hank, for one, if you’re going to be captain, you have to stop making fun of your inferiors.” 

“Yeah, but, like, there’s inferior, and then there’s... _inferior_. Can’t we make an exception for the second kind? Which Gavin just happens to fall into the category of? I mean, come on, Jeffrey, that’s not _my_ fault. I can’t control how his doucheyness makes him appear to the outside world.” 

“Well, you may be onto something. He did use up all the breakroom creamer this morning without asking if anyone else wanted some.” 

“That fucking bastard. I knew one day he’d show his true colors.”

With a jolt, Hank noticed that it was quiet. Too quiet. Nope, not too quiet, just quiet enough. A perfectly reasonable amount of quiet. 

“Free at last,” he whispered to Sumo, standing stiffly and listening to all the joints in his spine pop. He almost headed directly for the door, but... something stopped him. Maybe it was a cop’s sixth sense, or maybe it was just the idea of walking in the door and being very wrong about what was and wasn’t going on in there. Instead, he glided back over to the window and risked another glance. 

God fucking DAMN it, Connor! 

So. They were not finished. 

And that was more of Connor - and of Markus - than Hank had ever, ever wanted to see. 

For one, both of them were buck-ass naked. Naked as fucking jaybirds. Not wearing any goddamn clothes. 

For two, they were now pressed together, face-to-face, giving each other goddamned googly eyes while Connor fucking undulated on top of Markus like a... like a snake, or a squid, or something else that fucking undulates. 

This close to the window he could hear too goddamn much again. Connor had his arms bracketing Markus’s body, face screwed up, and he was panting out a confused, nonsensical mantra: “Oh, Markus, oh, fuck, Markus, I want... I need...” 

For his part, Markus was sprawled out beneath, mouth open in a little “oh” of surprise that he kept repeating breathlessly, over and over. He gripped Connor’s shoulders like Connor was the only thing in the world, like he was a drowning man and Connor was the last life preserver. 

Their eyes met, and it was an intensity like magnets. They smashed together like thunder, like lightning, mouths hungry for each other, desperate to feel, to taste, to possess and be possessed. 

“Aw, god, grosssssss!” Hank moaned quietly, backing away and retreating to the safety of the porch. 

“I guess we just live here now,” he addressed Sumo sadly. Sumo licked his face. “That’s us. Drifters who live on our own front porch. Exiles doomed to wander the earth forever.” 

Sumo gave a melancholic bark. No doubt their new turn of fortune was starting to sink in for him, too, and he was finding it as intolerable as Hank. 

“Hank?” 

He jumped to his feet as the front door swung open, feeling like a kid who’d sneaked out of the house and was caught trying to break back in. 

“What’re you doing sitting on the porch?” 

Connor was more or less fully dressed again, though his feet were uncharacteristically bare and his hair stuck up in odd places. Through the open door, Hank caught a glimpse of Markus, also dressed, running a hand over his clothes self-consciously, checking for anything unbuttoned or out of place.

Hank hesitated. He could tell the truth. He could use the moment to his advantage, take it as an opportunity to lord this one over Connor anytime the little android bastard said something haughty and stupid. “Oh, yeah, Connor? Well, remember that one time...?” he imagined himself retorting in response to some imagined future slight. 

In front of him now, though, Connor didn’t wear his usual smirk. His fingers moved restlessly, his eyes avoided Hank’s, and he was blinking too much. 

All right. Jesus. 

“Just finished bowling early,” Hank replied easily. “Saw Sumo had gotten outside, decided to keep him company. Nice night for it.” 

Connor watched Hank’s face carefully, clearly scanning for evidence that Hank knew more than he let on, but Hank didn’t give him time, barging into the house, Sumo hot on his heels. 

“Oh, hi, Markus,” he said casually, feigning surprise. _How’s your sex life?_ his mind supplied gleefully, and Hank had to push that thought back down before he fucking lost it. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

Markus’s eyes flicked from Hank to Connor and back again, and the android nodded seriously and tried to smile. “Yes. I hope... it doesn’t bother you.” 

“Nah, no worries. You’re welcome anytime,” he replied, and he realized he meant it. Anyone who looked at Connor like that was welcome in Hank Anderson’s book. 

He turned and headed for the bathroom, casually throwing over his shoulder, “I hope you boys didn’t just sit around watching TV all night.” 

Whatever look the two androids might have shared, Hank missed it as he shut the door to the bathroom behind him and finally, finally got to piss. 

\---

It was late already, but Markus stayed, and Hank asked him all sorts of probing questions he only half-cared about the answers to. Questions about how Markus had gotten involved in the rebellion, about the progress of the android bills currently circling through Congress, about how he and Connor had met. The answers had ranged from fascinating to sympathetic to downright disturbing (“Connor pulled a _gun_ on you? And you’re still fine with-” Hank gestured generally in Connor’s direction. “Hank, in case you’ve forgotten, _you_ once pulled a gun on _me_ ,” Connor reminded him waspishly. “Fuck, Connor, that’s different,” Hank had grumbled). 

Overall, though, Hank had to admit that Markus seemed like a good kid. 

He felt like throwing out a half-joking “So what are your intentions with my android?” kind of question, but he let it lie. Instead he asked, “So I guess you’re going to be over here a lot more, huh? That is,” the thought popped up unpleasantly, “as long as Connor prefers to live here over living with you and the rest of the androids.” 

Connor looked downright upset at the suggestion, and responded fretfully, “No, Hank, I want to live with you.” He gave Hank that look again, that look that said he was soaking in input and processing variables, but this time it was more vulnerable and wounded than Hank was comfortable with. “At least... if you still want me to.” 

Hank snorted. “Why the hell would I want to live with you, Connor? You look at me all creepy, you hardly ever sleep, you’re always doing stupid coin tricks and getting the dog riled up and, to top it all off, you’re the biggest nag I’ve ever met, next to Fowler.” 

He smiled at Connor to let him in on the joke, but Connor’s mouth quirked up, because he already knew. “Well, lieutenant, it’s certainly no picnic to live with an elderly detective who drinks too much, eats terrible food, complains about everything, and regularly blows his own money consorting with criminals.” 

Hank’s laughter rumbled in his chest, and he sighed. “All right, ya fucking android.” He glanced at Markus, who was watching the entire exchange with a muted kind of horrified fascination, then back to Connor. “If you and your boyfriend are officially sticking around for the long haul... you’ll definitely be needing your own room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was... closer?... to what I originally had intended for this story to be, and then I thought I'd write it as a separate one-shot, but the two just flowed together better. Hopefully it works for everyone else, too; I can't tell if Hank is more OOC in this chapter or not, or even if he was, if it works because his character is growing? 
> 
> Thank you for all of the lovely kudos and reviews!!! I'm going to be better about responding to them all this time, I swear. 
> 
> Also apologies if I got anything wrong about how bowling leagues work!


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